In which this is your song

Oh, and isn't it a grey and lovely day here by the sea, a kind of colorless day, where the leaves can't make up their minds to change colors, and just kind of wilt on the branch, their green ebbing to tan, with no flash or fire or promise of maple syrup. Stupid trees.

Something about the quality of the light today reminded me of rainy days at the beach where I spent summers as a child. My brother and I would go to the shore with our cousins, and there were always at least two days of rain that would trap us inside, bored of cribbage and Star Trek re-runs on the little television my grandparents kept for watching Dialing for Dollars.

My cousin Ellen and I would head up to the room reserved for the girl cousins, with a tape recorder and the Casio keyboard she got one Christmas, and make up songs. Despite my years of lessons, I remained an indifferent student of the piano, with haphazard skills I was not interested in developing, once I realized I wouldn't be an overnight prodigy. Ellen was more disciplined in that regard, and so acted as our accompanist, while I focused on lyrics.

A partial list of our greatest hits:

  • Soviet Grandma -- Ellen wrote this lilting ballad in a minor key, and I provided harmonic vocals on this number that asserted that our grandmother (whose house we were recording in) was a spy for the Reds. As I recall, despite many slanderous allegations, our grandmother took issue only with the line �She always orders vodka when she goes into a bar.� Her problem with it stemmed not from the assertion that she drank, which she did, but that she drank vodka, which she did not.
  • Don�t Get the Bends -- A sad song of sorrow over love lost, expressed in three-quarter time as a wish that the beloved never experience decompression sickness.
  • Twelve Miles an Hour -- Upbeat, frequently performed a cappella, this ditty was a simple folk tune describing a variety of destinations to which we claimed to be traveling at a specific speed.
  • Peach on the Beach -- A peppy beat and inflexible rhyme scheme elevate �Peach on the Beach� above a mere list of things ostensibly found in locations that rhyme with the object found. The secondary, explanatory, lines of each verse (�It was attached to a leech,� e.g.) add depth and meaning to what is on the surface a childhood ditty of a day spent beachcombing. Its simple melodic structure recalls the finest moments of Stephen Foster. (See also: �Snail in the Mail.�)
  • Title unremembered -- This song stressed the importance of allotting sufficient time for daily hair care, and referenced both Phyllis Diller and Ed Meese, to the tune of �Stormy Weather.�
  • Yule Love -- Here I can see the seeds of sorrow that bloom now in my work as a lyricist. This wistful love song to an itinerant St. Nick has haunted many of my Christmas Eves:

    Santa, oh, why won't you be my man?
    He said, "Honey, I would, but my wife won't understand."
    Santa lights up his pipe and then he's gone.
    And then he smiles, and then it spreads for miles
    And he drives those reindeer, he whips those reindeer away.
    He's back on Christmas Day....

    To this day, I feel that this song is responsible for the twinge of heartache I feel come yuletide.

  • The Bob Song -- Set, inexplicably, to the tune of �Help,� this song was sung in a very high falsetto, from the perspective of a girl who only dated men named Bob. (�If I meet a Mike or Tom, I make him change his name.�) Obviously, this is based on a true story, that of a nice girl who was our grandmother�s swimming coach at the senior center. You can imagine how thrilled she must have been when my grandmother, who had obtained a copy of our tape by claiming it was for personal use, played the song for her.
  • Bowlers on the Storm -- Into this lane were thrown. Yes, Jim Morrison died too early to explore the full extent of the storm genre, but my cousin Ellen and I picked up the gauntlet and charged ahead, with the help of sheet music ripped from my parents� copy of �Great Songs of the �70s.� The crackling �thunder� effects were provided by a pan of frying pork chops. We jam econo, baby.

There were a lot of other songs, one involving Nick Nolte and a sandwich, one comparing Ellen�s brother�s nose to that of a gorilla. We did not limit ourselves, there in the beach house studio.

I was thinking of asking my cousin for a copy of the tape she made of our greatest hits, to see if our band could play one of them. I know the idea would be shouted down, but it seems natural, to have my first songwriting efforts come full circle and die upon the stage. We shall see. We shall see.



Star of the day. . .Debbie Gibson
posted @ 2:01 p.m. on November 22, 2006 before | after

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She lay awake all night,

zzzzzzzzzzz......